


Masks

by WahlBuilder



Category: DCU
Genre: Gen, Let’s play: superhero or abuse victim, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 09:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15361701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Ollie is concerned for his friend who sports strange injuries. Not that Ollie is without bruises himself, but at least he has an excuse.





	Masks

**Author's Note:**

> Slade/Roy/Ollie is hinted at.  
> Past Lex/Ollie/Bruce is hinted at.

Ollie never managed the art of fancy clothing, even though he likes good clothes. He likes green—for him, that’s enough. Bruce, on the other hand, knows all the strange words related to clothing, all the cuts and fashion trends. Ollie is sure he’s wearing something top-notch—for Ollie, it’s just dark-blue and beautifully stretched across Bruce’s broad form (he’s nearly as big as Slade, which is, of course, impressive). Ollie is glad he has any clothes at all, really (he monitores what Roy and Slade get carefully: Bad Texture is a thing for the both of them). But he is not blind and he can admire a man in fine clothes when he sees one.

It does not fool him, though.

Between the three of them, Lex always was the one they had to drag out of fights, and Bruce, the one they had to drag out of bedss of shady types. But now the closely guarded expression on Bruce’s face speak of something vile. It’s Bruce’s business, yes—but Bruce is Ollie’s friend and there’s a pallor to his face and winces he can’t quite hide and the way he carries himself with care, trying not to turn his torso much. Bruised or fractured ribs. It _is_ Ollie’s business, because he dragged Bruce out of bruising hands and orgies that messed with Bruce’s head more than they sated him enough times, back in the days.

It’s not that Ollie doesn’t have bruises himself: some, he cherishes (a particularly fun night with his lovers, that time when he took a hit for Roy); others, he simply endures. He has an excuse for them. He intends to find out Bruce’s excuse.

He moves through the fancy-dressed people of the party, catches Bruce by the arm. “We need to talk.”

Bruce’s arm is hard as a rock under his hand.

Bruce gives him a look, that hard look that would send any snooping reporter into a panicked run. Ollie tries to remember the latest Gotham gossip, but nothing comes to his mind. It must be something very recent or Bruce is being very, very careful.

“And hello to you, too, Oliver. What do we need to talk about?”

“Private things.”

It’s another proof that Bruce is not all right, that it takes him a few moments to understand Ollie’s poorly-veiled hint. Bruce nods, to Ollie’s relief. “All right.”

Ollie leads him to one of the private rooms (he always wondered whether they were reserved for business meetings on such occasions, or for not-very-business meetings). Ollie turns on the lonely lamp on a desk, turns to Bruce, perches himself on that same desk.

Bruce stands there, hands in his pockets, the very definition of polite indifference. It doesn’t fool Ollie either.

“Talk.”

Bruce arches an eyebrow. “I thought _you_ wanted to talk?”

Ollie lets out a sigh. He has nearly forgotten how difficult and obstinate Bruce can be (Lex and Bruce rivalled each other in this, and Ollie was caught between them; fun times).

“I mean, this.” Ollie gestures at Bruce.

The confused expression on Bruce’s face is either a testament to his acting skills or genuine. “My suit?”

“Your _ribs_. They are broken. Or fractured.” Ollie wonders whether someone, somewhere in Gotham has the same problem handling Batman. The Arrow’s cowled friend is just as stubborn as Gotham’s prince.

Nothing changes in Bruce’s face, nothing at all. Ollie takes it as confirmation of his assessment and prepares himself to hear a lie.

“I’m fine.”

All right, not exactly a lie. “No, you are not.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bruce. I just want you to be safe. So please… If you need anything, if you are in trouble, just talk to me, all right? You can talk to me about _anything_. I’m your friend.” He looks at Bruce, and that impenetrable expression softens.

“I know, Ollie. Thank you.”

It was not the truth, but it was something. Ollie needed Bruce to know he was not alone. He hoped it would be enough to help his friend, with time.


End file.
